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Chapter Seven

LUCIEN

I hadn’t stepped foot outside the Crimson Veil since last night—since meeting Miss Laurent.

After our little tête-à-tête, I’d returned here, to my domain, where I could brood in peace.

And I had brooded. Thoroughly.

Not that anyone had noticed. I’d handled the nightly run of operations with my usual precision—signed off deliveries, adjusted bookings, corrected the bar inventory after someone miscounted our highest-tier bloodwine.

I’d even spent an hour on the upper terrace, watching the lounge unfold like theater, issuing instructions with the flick of a hand and the barest lift of a brow.

But beneath it all?

I’d thought about her.

Her beauty, the tone of her voice, the set of her jaw, the way she’d filled out that blouse…

But the part I couldn’t stop thinking about was how she’d held her own against me. Whenever I faced off against someone, they often resorted to one of two responses when I threatened them. Either they tried to charm me, or they begged for mercy.

Isadora Laurent had stood her ground like a woman who didn’t particularly care what I thought about her. A woman who had nothing left to lose.

And it gnawed at me.

I didn’t normally brood. That was behavior reserved for poets, romantics, and vampires who wore too much velvet. I calculated, assessed, and planned. But never sulked.

Except, apparently, when it came to her .

She unnerved me. And the surge of protectiveness I’d felt for her last night was so unlike me that after The Crimson Veil closed its doors, I’d remained in my office, lounging on the settee beneath the stained-glass window.

I’d watched the colored light crawl along the ceiling as the sun rose.

But I hadn’t changed my clothes. And my cufflinks sat abandoned on the corner of my desk, forgotten.

Eventually, hunger drew me toward my bar cart. I stared at the antique mirror hanging on the wall above it and sighed. It was purely decorative, of course, seeing as how vampires had no reflections, but I could still sense my presence in it.

She’d called me a monster in a suit—and she’d nailed it.

To be clear, the insult itself didn’t unsettle me. Better people than I had called me far worse. But when she’d said it, it hadn’t sounded like an insult, meant to prod at me. It’d sounded like a conclusion.

And one that left me sulking.

I did not like her comparing me to her ex-mate—clearly.

Because her ex-mate was a fool. Something I was not.

I prided myself on my intelligence. I would never discard someone so lovely as Isadora, nor ever betray her trust in such an intimate manner.

To cheat on a mate was one of the worst offenses I could think of, and I wanted to rip the bastard’s throat out.

Instead, I poured a drink—blood-scotch, aged sixty years, smoky and bitter—but rather than drink it, I placed it on my desk, untouched.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t stop seeing her, standing on that staircase in her rumpled outfit, more beautiful than any vampiress I’d ever laid eyes on.

She was consuming my thoughts, and I hated it.

But most of all, I hated how she hadn’t seemed as affected by me.

If anything, she seemed to revile me based on my reputation alone.

Normally, I cultivated such a reaction from those I targeted. Not this time, though.

A knock broke the endless tirade in my mind. I knew the rhythm—two quick taps, a pause, then another tap. Juliette.

“Enter,” I called out, though my voice was hoarse.

My sister stepped inside in heels too sharp and lipstick too red for early morning. Clearly, she also hadn’t left The Veil yet.

“You look like shit,” she said cheerfully, then shut the door behind her.

“I don’t recall asking for a status report on my appearance.”

“You didn’t. But I’m giving it anyway.” She strode to my desk, her gaze on my untouched drink. Her brows rose, and she stared at me. “Everything okay?”

I didn’t bother responding—she was my sister, not my therapist.

She sighed and moved on. “All right. Well, Father has been calling for the last few hours.”

“Ignore him.”

Her laugh grated my nerves. “Yes, because that’s worked so well in the past. What’s going on? You rarely dodge his calls.”

“I’m not dodging. I’m avoiding unnecessary conversation.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Again, I didn’t answer.

Juliette seemed undeterred. She simply moved to the settee, straightened a crease in her slacks, and sat like she owned the place, even though it was my office. Of course, Juliette had never cared much for etiquette, much to our mother’s dismay.

“You’ve been wearing the same shirt for over twelve hours,” she said. “Which means something’s wrong. Mother and Father would have a heart attack if they saw you like this. Personally, I feel like cracking open some champagne.”

I gave her a look.

She smiled sweetly.

I turned my attention back to the drink I hadn’t touched.

Juliette quietly watched me. When I didn’t speak, she gave up with a shrug.

“Well, you and I both know he won’t stop calling.

For now, I’ve instructed Elias to redirect his calls to your voicemail, but that won’t work for much longer.

Now, I could take the next call myself…ask Dad what’s bothering you…

see what he has to say. Out of sisterly affection, of course. Pure concern for your well-being.”

“Juliette,” I muttered.

“Hmm?” She raised a brow.

“Stop being annoying.”

“But how else would I get you to speak to me, dear brother?” she asked with a wink. “Well, if you’re just going to sit here and brood, then I’m going to go home and go to bed. One of us should get some rest, I suppose.”

She rose from her seat and smoothed down her jacket. “Good night, Lucien.”

“Good night,” I muttered.

My sister headed toward the door, but stopped short a few feet away, her wide eyes snapping to mine.

Yeah, I heard it too. The unmistakable click of stiletto heels marching toward my office, each step distinct. A sound Juliette and I both knew far too well.

Juliette winced sympathetically, as most did when my mother arrived anywhere unannounced.

“Good luck,” she muttered under her breath.

Then she opened the door, and Seraphina swept right in, dressed in silk and smelling of expensive perfume—as always.

I took a slow breath, bracing myself for the oncoming storm. I knew exactly why my mother was here, and I didn’t have the energy for it.

Seraphina spared me a glaring glance before turning her attention to Juliette—her eldest daughter. “Loitering in your brother’s office at this late an hour?”

“Or early,” Juliette said. “All depends on perspective, I suppose.”

My mother rolled her eyes. “I suppose I should just be grateful you aren’t setting fire to another suitor’s estate.”

“I did that once , Mother,” Juliette sniped. “Besides, I only commit felonies after breakfast.”

Our mother’s lips quirked. “I need to have a word with your brother. Goodnight, darling.” Seraphina leaned forward and kissed my sister’s cheek, then practically shoved her out the door and closed it behind her with a soft click.

Lucky me. A private conversation at—I glanced at the clock—three in the morning. What was my mother even doing awake at this hour?

She took the closest seat and stared at me, taking in my wrinkled shirt, discarded cufflinks, and the untouched drink sitting on the desk in front of me.

“Well,” she said in a disapproving tone. “Aren’t you a sight.”

I didn’t rise to the bait. I knew better. Four hundred years of dealing with her had given me a great deal of insight.

“I’m waiting,” she said. “How did it go with the Laurent girl?”

I didn’t correct her or insist she address Miss Laurent properly. Because that would admit something aloud to both of us, something I wasn’t yet ready to admit.

“You came here at three in the morning for an update?”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t have had to if you’d taken your father’s calls.”

Aha. I’d brought this on myself, then.

I finally broke and took a sip of my drink. Then I leaned back in my chair. “She’s not what I expected.”

“How so?”

I didn’t immediately respond. Words were just as dangerous as fangs and weapons in my family, and I wasn’t ready to go to war with my mother.

After a few moments, Seraphina lifted a single brow.

Finally, with a sigh, I rose from my chair and walked to the bar cart, pouring my mother a glass of bloodwine. “She didn’t cower,” I told my mother simply. “And I don’t believe I frighten her. Not in the least.”

I turned and handed Seraphina the glass.

“Yes, I didn’t expect she would,” my mother replied.

“You didn’t?”

“There are two types of people in this world,” my mother said. “Those who truly fear us and our family, and those who don’t.”

I blinked, then laughed. “Yes, well, those are the only two options.”

“A Laurent would not fear us,” Seraphina continued.

Her statement caught my attention. I took my seat behind the desk again and eyed her. “You know the Laurent family personally?”

“I do,” she admitted, though she didn’t offer any other information.

“You didn’t think to mention that when we last spoke?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “My past with the Laurent family is irrelevant. What matters is Isadora. I wonder if she realizes how precarious her position is. She’s alone here, with no family, no friends, and no money.”

“She doesn’t seem too concerned,” I replied.

My mother waited another moment, then rolled her eyes. “For crying out loud, Lucien. Do you have anything of substance to report?”

“I’ve spoken with her once, Mother,” I said. And couldn’t get her out of my mind since, but that was neither here nor there. “These sorts of things take time. Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here, so we both can get back to our nights.” Well, mornings.

Her lips curled into a grin, one that exposed her teeth. My mother was still a vampire, after all.

“Your father wished to inform you that one of the Wolfe daughters entered Miss Laurent’s bar this morning. As you refused to take his call, I felt it best to deliver this news in person.”

“Which Wolfe?” I asked.

“Theodora,” my mother replied, her voice flattening with disdain.

My jaw tightened.

Thorne.

Of all the Wolfes—and there were quite a few of them—it had to be her.

The youngest of the brood and the loudest by choice, Thorne didn’t bark or growl like her brothers. She was clever, and worse, she knew it. I’d always found her grating. Perhaps because she was difficult to out-think, unlike her brutish siblings.

“Thorne,” I repeated.

Seraphina watched me carefully. “She hasn’t left the bar since.”

Of course she hadn’t. Thorne never did anything halfway. If she’d stepped inside Miss Laurent’s bar, it wasn’t for a drink or a friendly chat.

So, perhaps Miss Laurent wasn’t as alone as we’d first estimated. How curious.

The Wolfes didn’t align themselves with just anyone. And Thorne least of all. If she’d chosen to plant her flag—however subtly—in Miss Laurent’s crumbling bar, then it meant one of two things: She was bored. Or she saw potential.

Both were dangerous.

“Perhaps she’s taken a shine to Miss Laurent,” I said aloud, keeping my tone light. I could see why—I certainly had, after all.

“Precisely,” Seraphina murmured. “And while Miss Laurent may be under-funded and underestimated, she is not unintelligent. She’ll accept the help. Especially if it comes with wealth and connections. The Wolfes have money to burn and a vote on the council. Two things Miss Laurent currently lacks.”

I studied my mother closely. She didn’t often concern herself with nobodies. She reveled in power and politics. So, why then was she concerning herself with a disgraced heiress?

“Why are you so eager to see Miss Laurent run out of town?” I asked. “What is it about all this that has you pacing the marble?”

My mother hesitated for the briefest moment, as though deciding how much to tell me.

“I knew her mother,” she said at last. “We came up together in New Orleans before I moved here. Eleanor was all charm and soft smiles—or so she’d have us believe.

” Seraphina’s voice hardened. “But underneath all that perfume and forced kindness was a creature who knew exactly where to sink her teeth.” She leaned back against the chair. “I trusted her. Once.”

The silence stretched.

Then, a slight curve of her lips—more grimace than smile. “But a snake’s true nature always shines through. Miss Laurent may play the woe is me disgraced heiress card and try to win sympathy from our innocent, unsuspecting townspeople, but I know better. I know the traitorous vixen who raised her.”

My mother finally took a sip of her drink.

“So, forgive me if I don’t buy her tragic heiress act, Lucien.

I know exactly what Eleanor is. And mothers always shape their daughters in their image.

Eleanor would never raise a victim. She would raise a reflection of herself.

I won’t have their kind slithering through this town.

She’ll bite. She’ll poison. She’ll suffocate everything she touches. Just like her mother did.”

Seraphina set her glass down on my desk. “I suggest you go home, change out of that dreadful shirt you’re wearing, and get some rest. Because this is one fight I refuse to lose.” She rose from the chair and stared at me, her gaze piercing. “Do what you do best, Lucien.”

My mother didn’t wait for my response. Instead, she turned and swept out of my office, her heels clicking in perfect rhythm.

Silence followed. But her parting words echoed in my head.

Do what you do best.

I knew what she meant. She wanted me to manipulate and ruin Isadora until she had nothing left. But as I sat there, staring at the glass of blood-scotch I no longer had the appetite for, I realized I didn’t want to do what I did best.

I didn’t want to hurt Isadora.

No matter how my mother felt about it.